


Shutting Sherlock Up

by darlingred1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dildos, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingred1/pseuds/darlingred1
Summary: Sherlock’s utter inability to be quiet during sex was both a curse and a blessing.





	

Sherlock’s utter inability to be quiet during sex was both a curse and a blessing.

A blessing because, well, John was fairly certain there wasn’t anything hotter in the whole fucking world than Sherlock Holmes’s deep, rumbling voice swelling around a moan, ringing throughout the flat like a lovingly played note on his violin.

It was also a damn curse, though, because there was a kid in the flat now—one who didn’t sleep any better now than she had as an infant, and who adored Sherlock so bloody much that even the slightest sound of him got her perking up and curious.

So, although it killed him to, John tried very, very hard to shut Sherlock up.

“ _Shhh_ ,” he said, slowing his thrusts, which made Sherlock whine (a sound that travelled even farther than his moans) and shove his arse back, impaling himself as deep as possible on John’s cock. John muffled his own moan in Sherlock’s shoulder and growled, “ _Sherlock._ ”

“I’m trying!” Sherlock was lying facedown, his forehead pressed against the pillow, but John could hear the snarl in his voice. “I’m _trying_ , but—” Another shove, even more insistent than the last and accompanied by a greedy clench of his hole that made John relent and thrust again, nice and hard like Sherlock wanted it. “Uhn! But, oh god, it’s so good. You’re so big and—uhn—John, the pillow…”

John nipped Sherlock’s shoulder, fighting another groan. _Tart._ That was calculated, Sherlock pressing John’s buttons like the manipulative shit he was. Sherlock salivating over the size of John’s cock, Sherlock rubbing off against the pillow he’d placed under his own hips for comfort—John couldn’t get enough of that. He was weak against it. And of course Sherlock knew it.

Three more thrusts and Sherlock was back to moaning, pounding his own hips again and again into John’s, and their combined movements made the whole bed shake. They’d had to move the headboard several inches from the wall and oil the hell out of the frame, so the bed didn’t bang and squeak every time they shagged, but there was no such simple fix for Sherlock’s infuriating, beautiful voice.

When John slowed again, Sherlock let out a protesting wail that made John both grimace and preen. He reached around and covered Sherlock’s mouth with his palm.

“If she wakes up,” John hissed, “so help me, Sherlock, the only touch you’ll get for the rest of the night is that pillow. So please—”

Sherlock shook his head, dislodging John’s hand, and waved towards the side. “Get me a…” He gestured jerkily at nothing in particular and, when John didn’t understand, snapped, “A toy, John! Something to keep my mouth occupied.”

The words, the image, gave John a moment of pause, but then he moved. When he hefted himself up, his cock slipping free, Sherlock whined unhappily but moved as well, clasping the pillow under him and tossing it to the floor. John allowed himself a second to mourn the loss, the idea of Sherlock’s prick grinding against the pillow until he came all over it, before he reached for the bedside table drawer and grabbed the first dildo he found. It was realistic, caramel-coloured, not the biggest they owned but not small either.

Sherlock snatched it from his hand and settled onto his stomach, lying flat on the mattress with the dildo by his head. Once he was in position, he wasted no time filling his mouth, holding the base of the toy with both hands while he eased the shaft, centimetre by centimetre, down his throat.

_God_ , John thought, shuddering. _That sound…_

Sherlock wasn’t silent in this either, but at least the noise—a steady, sloppy slurping—wasn’t loud enough to be heard outside the bedroom. John’s dick throbbed as he pictured Sherlock’s hazy and half-lidded eyes, his lips growing wetter and pinker by the second as he sucked.

Then Sherlock gave a pointed little wiggle of his arse, emphasising how plump and perfect and ripe it was, and John crawled obediently back to his position between Sherlock’s legs, took his prick in hand, and slid into Sherlock’s hot, slick arse.

Without the pillow lifting his hips, putting him at an ideal angle to be fucked, Sherlock’s hole felt achingly, impossibly tight, clutching at John’s cock like it wanted to wring the come from him the way you wrung water from a towel. John couldn’t hold in a groan, which Sherlock echoed, although they both managed after a moment to stifle themselves—John by biting his bottom lip until it hurt and Sherlock by swallowing the toy until he gagged.

With the gag came an even more vicelike squeeze of Sherlock’s arse around John’s cock, and seconds later they were fucking again, harder than before. Their bodies slapped together, John pounding into Sherlock just this side of rough. The urge to cry out was maddening, but he managed to stave it off, breathing heavily through his nose, and although Sherlock occasionally let out a soft moan, he quickly muffled it, replaced it with a soft sucking noise and another clench of his arse.

His head bobbed to the same rhythm as John’s thrusts, his curls bouncing. John wished desperately that he could see Sherlock’s expression, could see whether his features were pinched with concentration or slack with pleasure, but he couldn’t of course. So he thought instead about the fact that Sherlock was being stuffed from both ends, used like a fucktoy, that he was being shut up by a thick cock in his mouth like John had threatened more than once—never entirely seriously, but maybe, since Sherlock had actually _asked_ for it now—

John kept thrusting even as he filled Sherlock’s arse with come, spurred on by the wet sounds of Sherlock’s lips sliding up and down the dildo, his thankfully (regrettably) quiet aborted moans. When John couldn’t stand the clutch of Sherlock’s hole around his softening dick any longer, he finally pulled out.

Immediately, Sherlock rolled over, reaching for John. The toy was still in his mouth, albeit only the first inch or so, and his face was red and drenched with spit.

John crawled to him, concerned, saying “Fuck. Did I hurt you?” but Sherlock only snatched John’s wrist and moved it so that John could touch his prick, which was hard as steel and nearly as wet as his face. As John closed his fingers around it and stroked, Sherlock arched with a noise that might’ve been a moan if he hadn’t promptly jabbed the dildo deeper into his mouth, silencing himself.

The sight was… John didn’t have words for what it was. A dribble of saliva trickled from the corner his lips, which were stretched wide around the toy, and his dark, hooded eyes were fixed on John. _See?_ they seemed to say. _Aren’t I brilliant?_

“Bloody brilliant,” John said, stroking faster, loving how Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered and his cock twitched in John’s grip. “Come on. Show me how quiet you can be when you come.”

Sherlock’s eyes squeezed shut, his head tipped back, and he crammed the dildo into his mouth—his throat muscles visibly rippling around its length—and came with nothing more than a sharp inhale and a wet slurp.

His dick had barely finished spurting, covering his belly in long white strands, before he was spitting out the toy, casting it aside, and turning towards John. He dove into John’s arms, seemingly trying to make himself as small as possible, and remained there, clinging with his face against John’s throat while John stroked his hair.

“So you get angry when I suggest a proper gag,” John said, mildly, “but you’ll happily muzzle yourself with a dildo instead?”

Sherlock sniffed. “Of course. Different…” He shook his head slowly from side to side, smearing saliva on John’s neck. “Purposes…motivations…something.” He waved one hand vaguely towards where the toy had tumbled off the bed. “You can, mm, use that again.”

“Oh,” John said, “I certainly will.”

 

 


End file.
